“One man escaped, and he had a wonderful escape, if I understood the account of the Indians.”
“Who was he?”
“Really, Miss Robinette, you question me very closely concerning a person whom I have not seen. From what I have heard of him, it is my opinion that he was George Benning, one of Mr. Robinette’s partisans.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Flora, as her emotions found vent in a flood of tears.
“It is plain enough that this young lady loves George Benning,” thought Wilder. “He is a fine fellow, and I can’t blame her. Here is no chance for me to fall in love, if I wished to do so, and I don’t. She is very pretty; in fact, she is beautiful; but it is evident that I must go further before I find my fate.”
Flora advanced, and held out her hand.
“I hope you will pardon me,” she said, “if I have shown distrust of you. My father always spoke so harshly of men who had joined the Indians, that I have thought they must be very wicked men. I must trust you. I have no one else to look to, and God knows that I am grateful for your offers of assistance. Heaven has raised up a friend to me in my time of trouble, and I am indeed thankful. Do you think that you can deliver me from the hands of these savages?”
“I can try, and I hope you will not accuse me of boasting, when I say that I generally succeed in what I undertake.”
“Would they kill me if I should fail to escape?”